Gaining An R.A.F Pilots Brevet In WW II
Drudgery?!!
MPN11
Thank you for your last.
Firstly, for all the boys (and Gals) who like my father were not on the front line, but served wherever they were sent, and did their "bit".
Secondly, for finding my posting of what little I know of Geoff and his war of interest. Every time I sit at the keyboard to post, I hesitate and think to myself "is this going to bore these rough, tough, military types to distraction, by relating a story in which not much happens - no heroism, no medals (apart from the ones just for turning up) no mentions in dispatches". Your use of the word "insights" makes me feel it might have some value - thanks again.
The only word in your post that I would take issue with is "drudgery". Geoff, (my old ex-WReN Mum tells me), was passionate about his flying. If you have read my previous posts you will know that he started as a "Brat", a boy apprentice, and achieved his goal of being an RAF pilot in WW2. He was 21 years old when he arrived in India and I am sure that he would he would have been delighted to fly anything that they gave him. Modern day regulaters (the so-far appalling EASA) would have a purple fit at the idea of a "non - type rated", or lacking "differences training" young person climbing out of a Dakota co-pilot's seat and lugging his kit over to a Hurricane to take that on for two further sectors that day - but that's how it was.
Ian B-B
Thank you for your last.
Firstly, for all the boys (and Gals) who like my father were not on the front line, but served wherever they were sent, and did their "bit".
Secondly, for finding my posting of what little I know of Geoff and his war of interest. Every time I sit at the keyboard to post, I hesitate and think to myself "is this going to bore these rough, tough, military types to distraction, by relating a story in which not much happens - no heroism, no medals (apart from the ones just for turning up) no mentions in dispatches". Your use of the word "insights" makes me feel it might have some value - thanks again.
The only word in your post that I would take issue with is "drudgery". Geoff, (my old ex-WReN Mum tells me), was passionate about his flying. If you have read my previous posts you will know that he started as a "Brat", a boy apprentice, and achieved his goal of being an RAF pilot in WW2. He was 21 years old when he arrived in India and I am sure that he would he would have been delighted to fly anything that they gave him. Modern day regulaters (the so-far appalling EASA) would have a purple fit at the idea of a "non - type rated", or lacking "differences training" young person climbing out of a Dakota co-pilot's seat and lugging his kit over to a Hurricane to take that on for two further sectors that day - but that's how it was.
Ian B-B
Last edited by Ian Burgess-Barber; 24th Jun 2014 at 20:44.
harrym, I know exactly what you mean. The RAF seems to have always had a penchant for cluttering up its cockpits with extraneous kit of dubious worth.
The Hercules Mk1 had the Decca Flight Log which, providing you were in SE England, the Gulf, or Newfoundland would obligingly tell you where you were, providing you had first told it where it was, having selected, from many, the appropriate chart on the roller map and of course the correct key. We seriously proposed this as the ICAO world wide nav aid for controlled airspace in place of the US VOR system!
The Hastings Mk 4 had Fed's Zero Reader. Again one had to manually input the required course selection on a separate controller before it could tell you how to turn on to it. It was yet another flight instrument to scan, and until the Flight Director superimposed these instructions directly onto the ADI (especially the combined V command bars of the Collins FD) was in my opinion, and with all due respect to Phil the Greek, an unnecessary complication. Like the Decca Flight Log a bit too clever for its own good!
IBB, what a varied selection of aircraft in your Dad's log book, any one of which most here would give their eye teeth to have a go on now! How simple were one's comings and goings in those days. 35 mins Air Test and type check and bingo, you are now on a Comm Flt!
Aren't Hummingfrog's US Diesels impressive? Given this was the 40's and BR had to wait for the 50's to get the feeble (well other than the Deltas) asthmatic ones that replaced our steam, they did rather have the edge. Of course we were broke and had to learn for ourselves how to do it as importing in dollars was not possible, but a Chieftain or Zephyr to Glasgow or Edinburgh would have been quite something...
MPN11, not only are the Corporation dust-carts of the RAF less glamorous, they are also far more fun! I certainly enjoyed life on the MRT Squadrons far more than on the supposedly glamorous Comets, Britannias or 10's. As for sitting on a Lincolnshire ORP all day for a living... what? Oh, right, I'll stop right there then!
The Hercules Mk1 had the Decca Flight Log which, providing you were in SE England, the Gulf, or Newfoundland would obligingly tell you where you were, providing you had first told it where it was, having selected, from many, the appropriate chart on the roller map and of course the correct key. We seriously proposed this as the ICAO world wide nav aid for controlled airspace in place of the US VOR system!
The Hastings Mk 4 had Fed's Zero Reader. Again one had to manually input the required course selection on a separate controller before it could tell you how to turn on to it. It was yet another flight instrument to scan, and until the Flight Director superimposed these instructions directly onto the ADI (especially the combined V command bars of the Collins FD) was in my opinion, and with all due respect to Phil the Greek, an unnecessary complication. Like the Decca Flight Log a bit too clever for its own good!
IBB, what a varied selection of aircraft in your Dad's log book, any one of which most here would give their eye teeth to have a go on now! How simple were one's comings and goings in those days. 35 mins Air Test and type check and bingo, you are now on a Comm Flt!
Aren't Hummingfrog's US Diesels impressive? Given this was the 40's and BR had to wait for the 50's to get the feeble (well other than the Deltas) asthmatic ones that replaced our steam, they did rather have the edge. Of course we were broke and had to learn for ourselves how to do it as importing in dollars was not possible, but a Chieftain or Zephyr to Glasgow or Edinburgh would have been quite something...
MPN11, not only are the Corporation dust-carts of the RAF less glamorous, they are also far more fun! I certainly enjoyed life on the MRT Squadrons far more than on the supposedly glamorous Comets, Britannias or 10's. As for sitting on a Lincolnshire ORP all day for a living... what? Oh, right, I'll stop right there then!
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Gaining An R.A.F. Pilots Brevet in WW11
Danny now up to page 193 of your fascinating story. Will post before I forget.
The posting from Valley was to 1 F.T.S at Oakington, near Cambridge.
Oakington was a permanent camp with comfortable accommodation. The school was training Acting Pilot Officers and us. They did the full course. We did the requisite ground school and reduced flying hours.
From 1st July to 27th September I flew 36 hours dual, 35 hours solo day and 9 hours, half and half, night. My instructor had flown P.R.U. Spitfires during the war and ensured that I carried out several back seat landings so that, if I was on a station with Spitfires, I would be O.K. I never did.
We did a lot of instrument flying. Do you remember the dreaded "Pattern B"?. cross countries, authorised low flying ranging over the lovely East Anglian countryside. In all a very pleasant time. Leisure in Cambridge, motor cycling around the Broads and an end of course party with our instructors.
We wondered what would happen to us as nobody seemed to have a clue.
Well, it was to 201 A.F.S at Swinderby, but what were we going to fly?
I set off north on my motor bike. It got dark as I reached Newark and on to the Lincoln road to Swinderby. As I turned off the main road towards the camp there were traffic lights on red and I saw an aircraft approaching. It landed in the field before the road, bounced over the road and arrived at the runway. What a welcome! It was a Wellington.
There were two types at Swinderby, the Wellington T10 and the Mosquito. We were destined for the Wellington.
Next day we met our crew, one navigator. On a cross country, if there was an instructor in the aircraft, then there was a staff wireless operator, if no instructor, then no wireless operator. There had been crashes and the authorities were being careful.
We had two weeks of ground school, aircraft systems, cockpit drills,
safety drills, dinghy drills and so on.
Our Wellingtons were very well used and quite a handful after the Harvard. The turrets had been taken out and we were the last trainee pilots to fly them.
After solo and usual local flying a lot of emphasis was on instrument flying, flying on one engine, and cross countries. These were at 15,000 feet. The auto pilots mainly did not work, and we pilots couldnt leave our seats. The navigator had to operate the fuel cross feeds near his position, and we had to carry a torch in our flying suit as sometime the lights would fail. My last trip was a night cross country on the 31st December 1951, to Oban, Inverness and back to base and that was the last trip by a pupil pilot on the Wellington. Next day the Varsities arrived and I expect the Wimpies were scrapped.
From 12th November to 31st December I flew 30 hours dual day and 10 hours solo day and 8 hours dual night and 11 hours solo night.
I did enjoy flying a famous aeroplane and it was a nice one to handle.
They did start out with Bristol Perseus engines, but later given Bristol Hercules which were much more powerful.
Good night!
The posting from Valley was to 1 F.T.S at Oakington, near Cambridge.
Oakington was a permanent camp with comfortable accommodation. The school was training Acting Pilot Officers and us. They did the full course. We did the requisite ground school and reduced flying hours.
From 1st July to 27th September I flew 36 hours dual, 35 hours solo day and 9 hours, half and half, night. My instructor had flown P.R.U. Spitfires during the war and ensured that I carried out several back seat landings so that, if I was on a station with Spitfires, I would be O.K. I never did.
We did a lot of instrument flying. Do you remember the dreaded "Pattern B"?. cross countries, authorised low flying ranging over the lovely East Anglian countryside. In all a very pleasant time. Leisure in Cambridge, motor cycling around the Broads and an end of course party with our instructors.
We wondered what would happen to us as nobody seemed to have a clue.
Well, it was to 201 A.F.S at Swinderby, but what were we going to fly?
I set off north on my motor bike. It got dark as I reached Newark and on to the Lincoln road to Swinderby. As I turned off the main road towards the camp there were traffic lights on red and I saw an aircraft approaching. It landed in the field before the road, bounced over the road and arrived at the runway. What a welcome! It was a Wellington.
There were two types at Swinderby, the Wellington T10 and the Mosquito. We were destined for the Wellington.
Next day we met our crew, one navigator. On a cross country, if there was an instructor in the aircraft, then there was a staff wireless operator, if no instructor, then no wireless operator. There had been crashes and the authorities were being careful.
We had two weeks of ground school, aircraft systems, cockpit drills,
safety drills, dinghy drills and so on.
Our Wellingtons were very well used and quite a handful after the Harvard. The turrets had been taken out and we were the last trainee pilots to fly them.
After solo and usual local flying a lot of emphasis was on instrument flying, flying on one engine, and cross countries. These were at 15,000 feet. The auto pilots mainly did not work, and we pilots couldnt leave our seats. The navigator had to operate the fuel cross feeds near his position, and we had to carry a torch in our flying suit as sometime the lights would fail. My last trip was a night cross country on the 31st December 1951, to Oban, Inverness and back to base and that was the last trip by a pupil pilot on the Wellington. Next day the Varsities arrived and I expect the Wimpies were scrapped.
From 12th November to 31st December I flew 30 hours dual day and 10 hours solo day and 8 hours dual night and 11 hours solo night.
I did enjoy flying a famous aeroplane and it was a nice one to handle.
They did start out with Bristol Perseus engines, but later given Bristol Hercules which were much more powerful.
Good night!
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Re "drunken chopsticks" in the mid fifties some of the Meteor F8s on the squadron were fitted with "Appendix", a bit of kit intended for use to home on a target jamming the fighter control frequency. In those far off days, for exercise purposes, a Lincoln with an open mike in one of the engine cowlings transmitting over the airwaves became a very effective jammer. Keep the chopsticks central and the Lincoln eventually came into view - or not if you were flying away from it! When the fighter got close the technique was to bank vertically for a few seconds and you could see from the instrument if the target was relatively higher or lower than yourself. Oh what fun we had when flying in cloud and the AH toppled.
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"Curiouser and curiouser", thought Alice.
pzu,
This is a most interesting link you've given us. (Your #5857 "Spitfire Glider Tugs < Vintage Wings of Canada") First shot out of the locker, it was a hare-brained scheme of which I've never heard - although at that stage of the war, there were such schemes aplenty (for who knows, they might work). And of course, I was round the other side of the globe from '42 to '46.
The next comment is on the first pic. Could be wrong, but the aircraft shown towing doesn't look quite like a Spitfire to me. The wingspan looks a bit too large, there isn't the dihedral you have in a Spit, the rad bulge under the stbd wing root isn't prominent enough. Could it be a Hurricane ? And the tow looks as if it's from the left side of fuselage ? How was it done ? (I see that a later pic shows the Spitfire tail wheel bolt-on assembly.
Second pic (Flt/Lt McRae and Spit V [?]). What on earth is in the cockpit ?)
Third pic really takes you back. All the spirit of the wartime RAF is there to see (but no Sgt-Pilots ?)
Rest of pics: What a beautiful glider ! (I've never seen one before). Put an engine on that and you'd really have something. All this will be old hat to harrym, but it's all fresh to me. The notion of doing it off an aircraft carrier makes me turn pale !
*********
Pursuant to our PMs (and one on the subject from another PPRuNer), I have been digging a bit deeper into our subject, and turned up quite a bit of stuff on the internet (detailed below, double underline shows source, bold type mine for emphasis). Seems our Wing Commander is something of a celebrity.
I had in mind writing to BBC Tees, but now I don't know what to think. If we accept that 88 is correct, nothing fits. But surely their reporter would have got that right ?
I've watched the video several times, surprised that he keeps his hands firmly in his lap throughout - and when the affable young pilot offers him control (01.16) of the Cessna 152 (?), answers "Better not". Why not, for pity's sake ? What harm can he possibly do ? Wouldn't any old pilot happily "have a go" ? Wouldn't you ? Seems odd to me.
What do you make of it ? What do our readers think ?
Cheers, Danny.
************************
BBC News Tees 22.6.14. (on link from pzu Post #5848)
==============
"For once, Mike Warren was happy to be a passenger Teesside war veteran gets back in the cockpit"
"Teesside war veteran has returned to the cockpit 70 years after flying Lancaster Bombers over Germany".
"Mike Warren, 88, was involved in more than 100 World War Two 2 operations".
"Now he has been flown to Gloucester to be reunited with fellow pilots".
(I think by "Project Propeller"..D).
Canadian Air Forces - RAF Benson - News and Weather
=================================
(pix)
National Canadian Air Forces Memorial Unveiled By The Duke Of Gloucester
************************************************************ *
"A NATIONAL Memorial to Canadian Air Forces was dedicated, Friday the 8th July 2011 by His Royal Highness The Duke of Gloucester, at a ceremony at the National Memorial Arboretum in Staffordshire, England and was marked by a fly-past of an RAF Spitfire and four Tucano trainer aircraft".
"Also present at the ceremony today was former Wing Commander Mike Warren, who trained with Dambuster Guy Gibson but also flew missions with the elite American 101st Airborne during Operation Market Garden".
Sunderland Echo 21.6.14.
===============
"Mr Hall will be joined by former Wing Commander Mike Warren, from Saltburn, who was involved in the D-Day landings as well as flying raids in Lancasters as both a pilot and later a rear gunner".
The FLYER forums ‹ GA Discussion
=====================
by GrimReaper » Thu Feb 13, 2014 5:38 pm (Excerpt from)
"Hi Colin
I don't have any details of Mike Warren, so please feel free to pass these on to me by whatever means you wish. Many thanks for your help".
, Danny.
This is a most interesting link you've given us. (Your #5857 "Spitfire Glider Tugs < Vintage Wings of Canada") First shot out of the locker, it was a hare-brained scheme of which I've never heard - although at that stage of the war, there were such schemes aplenty (for who knows, they might work). And of course, I was round the other side of the globe from '42 to '46.
The next comment is on the first pic. Could be wrong, but the aircraft shown towing doesn't look quite like a Spitfire to me. The wingspan looks a bit too large, there isn't the dihedral you have in a Spit, the rad bulge under the stbd wing root isn't prominent enough. Could it be a Hurricane ? And the tow looks as if it's from the left side of fuselage ? How was it done ? (I see that a later pic shows the Spitfire tail wheel bolt-on assembly.
Second pic (Flt/Lt McRae and Spit V [?]). What on earth is in the cockpit ?)
Third pic really takes you back. All the spirit of the wartime RAF is there to see (but no Sgt-Pilots ?)
Rest of pics: What a beautiful glider ! (I've never seen one before). Put an engine on that and you'd really have something. All this will be old hat to harrym, but it's all fresh to me. The notion of doing it off an aircraft carrier makes me turn pale !
*********
Pursuant to our PMs (and one on the subject from another PPRuNer), I have been digging a bit deeper into our subject, and turned up quite a bit of stuff on the internet (detailed below, double underline shows source, bold type mine for emphasis). Seems our Wing Commander is something of a celebrity.
I had in mind writing to BBC Tees, but now I don't know what to think. If we accept that 88 is correct, nothing fits. But surely their reporter would have got that right ?
I've watched the video several times, surprised that he keeps his hands firmly in his lap throughout - and when the affable young pilot offers him control (01.16) of the Cessna 152 (?), answers "Better not". Why not, for pity's sake ? What harm can he possibly do ? Wouldn't any old pilot happily "have a go" ? Wouldn't you ? Seems odd to me.
What do you make of it ? What do our readers think ?
Cheers, Danny.
************************
BBC News Tees 22.6.14. (on link from pzu Post #5848)
==============
"For once, Mike Warren was happy to be a passenger Teesside war veteran gets back in the cockpit"
"Teesside war veteran has returned to the cockpit 70 years after flying Lancaster Bombers over Germany".
"Mike Warren, 88, was involved in more than 100 World War Two 2 operations".
"Now he has been flown to Gloucester to be reunited with fellow pilots".
(I think by "Project Propeller"..D).
Canadian Air Forces - RAF Benson - News and Weather
=================================
(pix)
National Canadian Air Forces Memorial Unveiled By The Duke Of Gloucester
************************************************************ *
"A NATIONAL Memorial to Canadian Air Forces was dedicated, Friday the 8th July 2011 by His Royal Highness The Duke of Gloucester, at a ceremony at the National Memorial Arboretum in Staffordshire, England and was marked by a fly-past of an RAF Spitfire and four Tucano trainer aircraft".
"Also present at the ceremony today was former Wing Commander Mike Warren, who trained with Dambuster Guy Gibson but also flew missions with the elite American 101st Airborne during Operation Market Garden".
Sunderland Echo 21.6.14.
===============
"Mr Hall will be joined by former Wing Commander Mike Warren, from Saltburn, who was involved in the D-Day landings as well as flying raids in Lancasters as both a pilot and later a rear gunner".
The FLYER forums ‹ GA Discussion
=====================
by GrimReaper » Thu Feb 13, 2014 5:38 pm (Excerpt from)
"Hi Colin
I don't have any details of Mike Warren, so please feel free to pass these on to me by whatever means you wish. Many thanks for your help".
, Danny.
Last edited by Danny42C; 25th Jun 2014 at 19:45. Reason: Typo.
Aircraft Recognition
Danny ref. Mike Warren in your last:
I've watched the video several times, surprised that he keeps his hands firmly in his lap throughout - and when the affable young pilot offers him control (01.16) of the Cessna 152 (?)
The aircraft is not a 2 seat Cessna 152, (some of the shots are from the back seats), it is a 4 seat Cessna 177B Cardinal - one of the best looking single engine Cessnas of the post-war period (no struts, cantilever wing). The A/C in the video is G-BRDO built 1975, and I admit to breaking one of the commandments when I look at this machine, (the one about not coveting thy neighbours oxen). Guilty as charged M'lud!
Ian B-B
I've watched the video several times, surprised that he keeps his hands firmly in his lap throughout - and when the affable young pilot offers him control (01.16) of the Cessna 152 (?)
The aircraft is not a 2 seat Cessna 152, (some of the shots are from the back seats), it is a 4 seat Cessna 177B Cardinal - one of the best looking single engine Cessnas of the post-war period (no struts, cantilever wing). The A/C in the video is G-BRDO built 1975, and I admit to breaking one of the commandments when I look at this machine, (the one about not coveting thy neighbours oxen). Guilty as charged M'lud!
Ian B-B
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"Curiouser and Curiouser", thought Alice.
Ian B-B,
Yes, it does look rather nice inside for a 40 year old, doesn't it ? (But could be rather pricey, 'fraid you'll have to make do with the ox after all).
Two odd things, do the light aircraft people of today fly without shoulder harness ? (what about aerobatics ?). You learn something every day !
Ran the Mike Warren clip again. When he's saying his few words at the beginning, I noticed the little Squadron badge on his lapel. Got the magnifying glass out.
Can't work out squadron number, but crest could be a fox's mask. But the crown above is clearly a Queen's Crown. That badge received Royal approval post-1951.
Danny.
Yes, it does look rather nice inside for a 40 year old, doesn't it ? (But could be rather pricey, 'fraid you'll have to make do with the ox after all).
Two odd things, do the light aircraft people of today fly without shoulder harness ? (what about aerobatics ?). You learn something every day !
Ran the Mike Warren clip again. When he's saying his few words at the beginning, I noticed the little Squadron badge on his lapel. Got the magnifying glass out.
Can't work out squadron number, but crest could be a fox's mask. But the crown above is clearly a Queen's Crown. That badge received Royal approval post-1951.
Danny.
"Aerobatics Prohibited" (in most cases)
Danny
I think I see that the owners of this Cardinal have spiffed-up the interior by re-covering the seats with leather upholstery, which always enhances a cabin IMHO. I was surprised to not see a diagonal shoulder harness in use (as fitted to most of the light A/C of my acquaintance). Full harness is usually found only in fully aerobatic A/C these days, which, are few and far between, probably 10% (or less) of the UK general aviation fleet. Cessna beefed-up the airframes of their hugely successful 150/152 trainers and designated them 150/152 "Aerobats" and they have full harness. I did my first loop in one of those (G-AYOZ) in 1971.
Ian B-B
I think I see that the owners of this Cardinal have spiffed-up the interior by re-covering the seats with leather upholstery, which always enhances a cabin IMHO. I was surprised to not see a diagonal shoulder harness in use (as fitted to most of the light A/C of my acquaintance). Full harness is usually found only in fully aerobatic A/C these days, which, are few and far between, probably 10% (or less) of the UK general aviation fleet. Cessna beefed-up the airframes of their hugely successful 150/152 trainers and designated them 150/152 "Aerobats" and they have full harness. I did my first loop in one of those (G-AYOZ) in 1971.
Ian B-B
Last edited by Ian Burgess-Barber; 26th Jun 2014 at 11:19. Reason: Correct % figure after checking CAA website.
Danny, now that you mention it, it is rather curious how determined he seems not to even touch the controls. Any pilot would know that his mentor would be following through (as indeed he is told) and that there was no risk involved. Of course, he also knew that his efforts would be on video for posterity and probably didn't want it to show him making a complete Horlicks...
Your Flyer link leads to this post by Grim Reaper:-
http://forums.flyer.co.uk/viewtopic....arren#p1259346
As for the squadron badge, your eyes are better than mine, for I cannot say that I can make anything much out of his lapel badge at all. If indeed it is a fox mask, then that was 12 Squadron (bombers) flying Lancasters out of Wickenby as shown here:-
Royal Air Force Heraldry Trust, the Squadron Badges List
No. 12 Squadron RAF - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
We have many skilled researchers here on PPRuNe, unlike me. I'm sure that one will be along soon...
Edited to add that what this story does highlight is the excellent work done by Project Propeller, now in its 15th year of getting WW2 veteren aircrew airborne again. Respect! :-
http://www.projectpropeller.co.uk/
Your Flyer link leads to this post by Grim Reaper:-
http://forums.flyer.co.uk/viewtopic....arren#p1259346
I'm sure you have already, but if you haven't heard the story of his service, do ask him. I don't think I've ever felt so humble (Synopsis: 114 combat ops....impaled into his seat after a crash landing in Norfolk, his crew outside shouting "get a move on you lazy b****rd!". Stomach reconstruction, finishes his 4th tour as a rear gunner because his stomach muscles weren't strong enough for the rudder; pops off a Ju88. In between ops 114 and 115-120, becomes the road manager for Glenn Miller's band. Amazing.)
Royal Air Force Heraldry Trust, the Squadron Badges List
No. 12 Squadron RAF - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
We have many skilled researchers here on PPRuNe, unlike me. I'm sure that one will be along soon...
Edited to add that what this story does highlight is the excellent work done by Project Propeller, now in its 15th year of getting WW2 veteren aircrew airborne again. Respect! :-
http://www.projectpropeller.co.uk/
Last edited by Chugalug2; 26th Jun 2014 at 09:15. Reason: Link to Project Propeller
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Our founder the late Cliff had a ride with Project Propeller and a bit of stick time..
This lead to a couple more trips with more stick time.
This lead to a couple more trips with more stick time.
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OTU
Chugalug2:- I recall something called HARCO, a moving map gizmo which I think was a development of Decca. When it worked it was fairly convincing, but not as accurate for airways work as VOR.
Ref the zero reader, I flew the Hastings Mk4 for 2 1/2 years but my specimen certainly did not have it. Possibly the other three specimens (there were only four Mk4s in total) being UK based were retro-fitted, I do remember our Singapore-based bird never received various mods applied to the others.
My OTU account follows. I apologise again for some of my rather elementary descriptive writing, but re-state that it was all set down with non-aviators in mind and I deemed it best to leave things that way.
PART 6--OPERATIONAL TRAINING.
Proof as to the rumoured surfeit of instructors was provided by a posting to No.28 OTU, a bomber training station situated several miles to the east of Loughborough near the village of Wymeswold . That (for us) the unpleasant face of war was drawing closer now became evident, for as with others of its ilk the base's instructional staff consisted largely of experienced aircrew fresh from recently completed tours of duty on operational bomber squadrons. Physically hardly older than us, they had seen action through a period during which Bomber Command had sustained its heaviest losses and gave an impression of belonging to another generation; while for my part I found myself torn between the naive and idealistic hope that the war would not end before I had achieved something "useful", as against a very natural instinct for survival.
Like all such units Wymeswold was equipped with Britain's famed "cloth bomber", a title accorded the faithful old Wellington by our US allies on account of it being 100% fabric-skinned. By this time retired from front-line work, it found wide employment on training duties and so we spent much time in ground school learning the mysteries of balance cocks A & B, sleeve-valve engines, bomb racks etc, not to mention such new esoterics as Gee, the then state-of the-art navigation aid and our first sight of a cathode ray tube. Aside from the Link Trainer, synthetic training as such was very much in its infancy and what little of it I recall involved the crew sitting at separate tables in a darkened room in a condition of pretended flight, fed at intervals with scraps of information representing sundry facets of flight progress. Each crew member was then supposed to take correct action in furtherance of the "mission", but whereas the navigator could be expected to keep a fake air plot going, the signaller happily play with a real T1154/R1155 set-up, and the bomb aimer perhaps achieve something on a crude training rig there was little for the pilot to do other than yawn. Somewhat appropriately this farce went under the pseudonym of "Grope", my only clear memory of one such exercise being service of a summons by the local bobby while being supposedly off the Dutch coast, the local beaks subsequently relieving me of ten shillings for the dire offence of cycling without lights.
My first and only flight in a Wellington failed to impress; not only did the controls feel unresponsive and heavy after the Oxford, the aircraft itself seemed ponderous and sluggish while I was surprised to discover that engine and ancillary controls were situated on the pilot's left side rather than the right. Thus I was not sorry when, next day and quite out of the blue, came news that Wymeswold was with immediate effect to become No.108 (Transport) OTU; furthermore, those who like myself were less than halfway through training were to cease such training forthwith and await conversion to the new role. Some years later I was to fly the Wellington again briefly and quite enjoyed it, but that is no part of this tale.
As facilities for transport training were not expected to be in place for some weeks, given the Service’s dislike of idleness some employment had to be found for us meantime; so daily we marched up to the ground school buildings, our task to redecorate them from top to bottom. The job was doubtless done with a fair degree of incompetence, as no instruction was given, tools and materials of half a century ago were hardly of today's quality and there was plenty of opportunity for larking about. Various new uses were found for some of the strange articles that came to hand, among them the explosive qualities of aluminium powder (from old sea markers) that was available in quantity; poured into the top of a stove, it flashed off most satisfactorily while the vast clouds of fumes did wonders for the surrounding decor.
After breakfast all students customarily got "fell in" behind the Officers' Mess where Spike Nolan, our unloved, cast-eyed (but all-seeing) Warrant Officer i/c trainees, would call the roll and then sourly issue various instructions and/or bollockings prior to marching us the odd mile or so to work. Now during this autumn of 1944 the Germans had commenced V2 rocket attacks on London, two of which we observed from our parade ground standpoint. On two separate occasions vapour trails rising from the southeastern horizon, clearly visible in the early morning light, excited a buzz of comment which even Spike was unable to quell; the first rising almost vertically before disappearing at the top of its trajectory, but the second a few days later described a series of erratic spirals low in the sky before plunging earthwards, no doubt to the discomfiture of its launch crew. Later I was to experience this terrifying weapon myself, luckily from a safe distance.
Along with some friends I dwelt on one of the camp's more remote sites, a cluster of huts in a shallow valley adjoining a copse full of game. A few of us would sometimes venture out with my ancient but newly-acquired 12-bore, to the displeasure of a local tenant farmer who informed us in reverent tones that " 'is h'lordship" would strongly disapprove of our temerity; however, our protestations that vermin control was a public duty were totally ignored (rabbits were indeed a real pest at this time, myxomatosis being unknown). Of course we took no notice and, following a subsequent discharge of my fowling piece on another poaching expedition, were chased off by his son atop a rickety bicycle; but as he wielded a large cudgel in one hand, it was impossible for him to ride at any speed over the rough, wet ground and so we got away. Revenge on the farmer's hen house was then planned but it proved too secure, further attempts being aborted when he was heard to declare in the local tavern that somebody had been after his chickens and "son would be waiting for 'un wi' shot gun". From then on we decided that the pub offered a safer form of recreation; it was anyway a very good one, with friendly landlord and excellent ale, his "old, mild & Tadcaster" being especially favoured for induction of general bonhomie (not to mention its warming qualities). Besides, nights were now drawing in so poaching after work was both difficult and uncomfortable as well as dangerous. To liven things up, one of my wilder companions subsequently dropped a Verey pistol cartridge down the chimney of a hut containing some RCAF personnel, causing much confusion but fortunately no injury. He was, incidentally, the one who had fired the near-fatal shot alluded to above - immediately following which, he had shoved the still smoking gun into my hands and shouted "run"; strange to relate, we remained friends for life (!).
As winter drew on the discomfort afforded by our crude accommodation became acute, so with our quarters being in a frost hollow the ablution block soon froze solid. By dint of stuffing the hut's stove with coke and then closing the dampers, the worst of the cold was kept at bay overnight. I suppose we were lucky not to asphyxiate ourselves with Co1, a very real risk using such a procedure; even so the heat produced was not always sufficient, so that one had to sleep almost fully dressed ed as well as resorting to such stratagems as putting a slip mat over the bedclothes. The same primitive stoves "heated" (in theory) all messes, classroom blocks etc, but as there was a perpetual shortage of fuel being cold became a fact of life; only when jammed into the pub's stuffy bar, or briefly home at weekends, was I warm again (but see later).
Eventually our efforts at painting & decorating were declared more or less acceptable and we reverted to the acquisition of learning with considerable enthusiasm, for a new and exciting vista had opened up consequent on our change of role; no longer bomber fodder, we were to fly the DC3 Dakota, the world's most famous airliner and wartime transport. Even in the classroom it soon became apparent that this fabled aircraft was in many respects superior to any contemporary from a British factory, especially so in the matter of its ancillary equipment, and the day when we would meet it face to face was eagerly awaited. At the same time, lectures on global weather, climatology and many other new subjects brought realisation that beyond the narrow confines of NW Europe a whole big new world awaited.
Initial flight conversion training was carried out at the satellite field of Castle Donington (now East Midlands Airport). In some respects a pleasant change - the Mess was smaller and more friendly, and Spike's eagle eye some miles distant - on the other hand accommodation was even more uncomfortable than at Wymeswold, and with Loughborough station now far off home visits became something of a marathon. However, set against the prospect of flying our new toy nothing else mattered..........
All the Daks were brand new, straight off the Santa Monica production line with only ferry hours to UK logged; they even smelt new, while the flight deck's relative luxury brought gasps of astonishment. By present day standards it was of course cramped, poky and not over-comfortable, but as compared with the Spartan interiors of contemporary British aircraft it was pure "Rolls- Royce". Cushioned seats with armrests and a properly insulated flight deck (sitting on a hard parachute being a pilot's normal lot elsewhere), plus a heating system that actually produced real heat, promised hitherto unheard-of luxury; while as for the practical side, its comprehensive instrumentation, Sperry autopilot & modern radio plus good layout of engine & ancillary controls were the stuff of pilots' dreams. An added bonus was being able to discard all our cumbersome flying kit including even helmet and mask, each crew station being provided with headset and hand mike. Designed to maintain airline schedules across a vast continent of climatic extremes, it was perhaps not surprising that the DC3's avionics and weather protection systems were of near space-age quality as compared to the primitive facilities offered elsewhere. Shamingly, in at least one respect it remained for some time yet light-years ahead of European counterparts, for its panel lighting was (in my experience, anyway) never surpassed - fifteen years on, that of the Britannia appeared to have been put together from surplus WW2 bits & pieces, while still later even the VC10 proved to be not much better in this context.
Indeed by 1940's standards the flight deck layout was an ergonomic triumph, even if somewhat cramped; throttles, propeller & mixture controls, elevator trim and tail wheel lock lever lay nicely to hand on the centre console, with fuel selectors and other important secondary controls also easily in reach. Batteries of clearly labelled switches were ranked on panels just above the windscreens, among them those for engine start (of which more anon), while said screens were cleared by real wipers that actually worked, an unheard-of luxury for those days. Various main elements of the hydraulic system were grouped immediately behind the copilot, bringing some advantages but also drawbacks, among which were loud and sometimes distracting noises emitted by this collection of miscellaneous plumbing. It also posed a potential hazard in the event of fluid leakage at a working pressure of 750 psi; fortunately this was very rare and never happened to me, however postwar standards rightly required all hydraulic components in new-build to be routed away from the cabin.
Fulfillment proved every bit as good as anticipation for the DC3 was indeed a delight; right from "blocks away" it handled nicely, the efficient toe-operated brakes and lockable tail wheel rendering taxiing and takeoff kids' stuff as compared with the desperate antics demanded by most other contemporary aircraft. By jet-age standards somewhat underpowered, so in truth were all piston-engined aircraft other than (possibly) front-rank fighters, and indeed for the period it was probably somewhat above average in this respect; in its natural element vice-free and driver-friendly, we soon became its willing slaves.
Our stay at Castle Donington coincided with a spell of bitter cold, with the mercury retreating into thermometer bulbs Europe-wide. Our miserable Nissen huts were probably no worse than those provided in countless other military encampments (and certainly better than tents) but, inured as we were to discomfort, conditions really were pretty arctic; so airborne training was thus even more eagerly anticipated, for the Dak's snug flight deck offered warmth and comfort unavailable on the ground. Fortunately the frosty but largely clear December weather facilitated our initial familiarisation with this most likeable of aircraft, every moment sheer delight, the pleasure and satisfaction at having such a responsive classic in one's hands clearly remembered as if it were yesterday instead of over half a century ago. Christmas soon passed in an alcoholic haze and so, with initial "circuits & bumps" completed, let's return to Wymeswold for some cross-country work.
A frosty January morning found my three-man crew detailed for a navigational exercise out beyond the Western Isles, before heading back to Wymeswold. Following an extended flight planning session, the crew bus rattled across the airfield bound for one of the more remote dispersal areas where our aircraft awaited in a boggy wilderness, surrounded on three sides by a hoary thicket; ahead, a meandering and narrow taxiway lead to the unseen airfield, on the way crossing a local road bereft of barriers or even any warning notice. Completion of outside checks included not only essentials such as removal of the pitot/static head covers, but also one or two items peculiar to the Dakota such as removal of ground lock pins from each main landing gear assembly, checking that the four fuel tank water drain cocks were wire-locked shut, and last but not least that all five control surface gust locks were removed. Unbelievably it was not unknown for this last item to be overlooked by even experienced pilots, with invariably fatal results.
Engine starting was fairly straightforward, although some prior experience as the proverbial one-armed paper-hanger would undoubtedly have helped. The two Pratt & Whitney R1830 engines (1200hp each) possessed inertia starters, the drill being for one switch on the roof panel to be held down so as to energise a small flywheel up to astronomical revolutions, then pushing another switch (while yet still holding the first) in order to mesh starter to engine, and operating (judiciously) the primer switch while moving the associated mixture control lever to "rich" as soon as the engine fired. While this was going on it was also necessary (if unfortunate enough to be in a MK3 – the Mk 4 mercifully had electric booster pumps) to operate a hand-operated 'wobble' pump while it also helped to perhaps juggle the throttle so as to "catch" the engine if it showed signs of dying after a few first hesitant coughs; following which pantomime, there was a repeat performance to get the other one running. With some dexterity this task could be accomplished on one's own, but it did help to have the assistance of either the navigator or radio operator, acquisition of a copilot lying some time in the future. Occasionally an engine would splutter along solely on the priming pump's efforts, due to jamming of a main needle valve in the carburettor; in which event it was necessary to shake it free by inducing a hearty backfire with ham-handed use of the throttle, this usually effecting a cure. Life was further complicated by some aircraft having different starter switch layouts, resulting in much confusion, frustration and cursing plus some delay in achieving a state of engines running.
Having made an initial check of essential instrument readings (oil & hydraulic pressures, and so on), engine rpm were set at the warm-up value and various functional checks of ancillary equipment such as radio and navigational equipment carried out while engine temperatures rose to the minimum value for taxiing. Once achieved, and permission obtained by radio from the unseen control tower, we trundled along our rural track towards the main airfield taxiway. To the present-day aviator all this may seem somewhat elementary, but bear in mind that, in the course of nearly 300 hours of training, this was not only the first aircraft type in which I had actually used radio as a part of the flight process, I was also (at a bare 20 years of age) in sole command of a state of the art transport aircraft; so, for me, the big time had indeed arrived!
Time spent taxiing towards the holding point, or whatever it was called in those days, was sufficient for oil & cylinder head temperatures to attain minimum safe levels, so after checking correct propeller & magneto functioning we were ready to go. With an OK from the tower I swung onto the runway, allowing the tail wheel lock to engage as we lined up, and then steadily advanced the throttles to the maximum 48 inches manifold pressure. The props responded with a puissant and highly satisfying Hollywood-type droning roar, the initial snarl of the exhausts diminishing as speed increased. What little tendency to swing existed was easily countered initially by use of differential throttle, the effective rudder gaining authority as acceleration continued; following which the Dakota lifted easily into the crisp air at about 90 mph (knots lay in the future!). Acting as temporary copilot the radio operator executed the somewhat cumbersome procedure for raising main wheels, following which we turned towards the northwest and climbed steadily to our cruising altitude of 8,000 ft.
As we progressed, the very light dusting of snow beneath us gradually became a proper covering and the approaching Pennines assumed a positively Alpine aspect as they came into view in the brilliantly clear air. Here & there trailing white plumes marked the progress of various trains, a once commonplace sight now utterly vanished, while the Manchester conurbation was marked by a thick blanket of evil-coloured smog. Through it poked a large number of tall factory chimneys belching out their contribution to the general miasma, a foul and unlovely contrast to the purity of the surrounding snow-blanketed countryside. I had plenty of time to study this phenomenon, for the sky was empty and the superb autopilot left me little to do; visibility was unlimited, navigation by eyeball and the mountains of the Lake District soon lay directly ahead. Having checked the sky was clear I took advantage of Mr. Sperry, left my seat and went back to discuss flight progress with navigator & radio operator, a foolhardy and potentially dangerous action by any standards; however, the potential hazards of runaway autopilots were less well taught or appreciated in those innocent times, and in fact I never heard of any such event with the Dakota. In later years I learned better sense, though fortunately for me my education was by courtesy of the misfortunes of others.
Clad overall in winter whiteness the Lakes and their mountains looked quite magnificent in the bright sun, even the Cumbrian plain being covered, while further yet beyond the Solway Firth loomed the hills of Galloway in similar garb. The cockpit was warm and snug, the engines droned smoothly, all instrument needles indicated correctly, even our meal boxes contained passable offerings while a tolerably drinkable hot coffee nicely completed my sense of wellbeing; this, I felt, was what aviation was meant to be like. Indeed, given the luxury of an autopilot it was probably the first occasion on which I had been able to relax and really enjoy the sheer pleasure of flight in such perfect conditions; later, I would learn to savour and treasure such occasions to the full as a counterbalance to the thousands of other hours of tedium endured over the years - not to mention other, briefer, periods of worry, fear, or (very occasionally) stark terror.
As the Isle of Man fell behind on the left, the radio operator passed a message slip bearing the legend "return to base". No reason was given, and with only a distant cloud bank visible far to the north west I deemed it reasonable to request confirmation; which, being duly given, left me no alternative but to effect a 180o turn and head back. Following arrival at a wide-open Wymeswold, we found that a meteorological forecast of bad weather at our expected time of return was responsible for the recall, but the expected conditions never materialised and it was an early lesson in not placing too much faith in meteorological ‘experts’; sixty-plus years on, I still regret the early termination of what had been a perfectly delightful flight. However, as one of our aircraft had recently crashed during a blizzard, presumably the authorities were now playing safe.
Shortly before this my crew had undertaken another flight in fairly atrocious weather to Nutts Corner, an airfield on the north west coast of Ulster; but, being accompanied by an instructor, no restrictions had applied. It was a day of snow showers that became heavier and more frequent as we went on, so much so that frequent alterations of heading became necessary to avoid the closely-packed storms. Lacking "Gee", my inexperienced navigator was unable to keep up with our zigzag progress, the radio compass needle spun uselessly due to static, and with no landmarks visible our position became uncertain. When a coastline was finally discerned through the murk it was held to be Northern Ireland, and although it did not look quite right we attempted to make what was visible ‘fit’ the map, a process that became increasingly unconvincing as we headed inland. Eventually the nav caught up with events, pronouncing that, due to a combination of stronger than forecast wind plus more "zag" than "zig", we were now over SW Scotland and to turn 90o left immediately; following which, a snow-blown Nutts Corner eventually hove in sight. Well it was supposed to be a navigational exercise, and certainly lessons were learnt - not least the necessity for intelligent map-reading!
Some night X-country flights naturally formed part of the syllabus, my main recollection of these being the almost dangerously snug atmosphere of the pilots' small domain. With gangway blackout curtains drawn, sole illumination came from the myriad luminous needles and calibration markings glowing brightly on the instrument dial faces, shaded ultraviolet lamps ensuring that these stood out clearly while all other cockpit detail remained virtually invisible; the synchronised propellers droned away comfortingly, and a 700 temperature added to the illusion of security born of inexperience. The rear crew members continued with their esoteric duties behind the curtains, passing messages from time to time plus the occasional cup of coffee; it was all rather other-worldly, although reality intruded now & then and especially so when weather was encountered. Then one would watch the airspeed closely for evidence of ice build-up, whilst simultaneously reassured by the Dak's excellent protection systems; one dramatic encounter with St. Elmo's Fire, with mysterious green feathers sparking across the screens and the propeller arcs described in brilliant rings of flickering bluish flame came as a glimpse into the previously unknown. At the time this was all great stuff; but with later exposure to weather in its more violent manifestations I would learn to be wary of such phenomena, for they might well herald much worse to follow.
Our course successfully completed sometime in February 1945 there followed a spell of leave, after which my crew proceeded to a holding unit at Morecambe. So down to Loughborough station (Great Central) for the last time, a place from which so many weekend journeys had commenced, and as the inevitable "V2" hicupped its way south at the head of our train I reflected on what the future might hold; for with the war in Europe plainly on its last lap, a posting to the Far Eastern theatre had to be considered as more than likely.
Ref the zero reader, I flew the Hastings Mk4 for 2 1/2 years but my specimen certainly did not have it. Possibly the other three specimens (there were only four Mk4s in total) being UK based were retro-fitted, I do remember our Singapore-based bird never received various mods applied to the others.
My OTU account follows. I apologise again for some of my rather elementary descriptive writing, but re-state that it was all set down with non-aviators in mind and I deemed it best to leave things that way.
PART 6--OPERATIONAL TRAINING.
Proof as to the rumoured surfeit of instructors was provided by a posting to No.28 OTU, a bomber training station situated several miles to the east of Loughborough near the village of Wymeswold . That (for us) the unpleasant face of war was drawing closer now became evident, for as with others of its ilk the base's instructional staff consisted largely of experienced aircrew fresh from recently completed tours of duty on operational bomber squadrons. Physically hardly older than us, they had seen action through a period during which Bomber Command had sustained its heaviest losses and gave an impression of belonging to another generation; while for my part I found myself torn between the naive and idealistic hope that the war would not end before I had achieved something "useful", as against a very natural instinct for survival.
Like all such units Wymeswold was equipped with Britain's famed "cloth bomber", a title accorded the faithful old Wellington by our US allies on account of it being 100% fabric-skinned. By this time retired from front-line work, it found wide employment on training duties and so we spent much time in ground school learning the mysteries of balance cocks A & B, sleeve-valve engines, bomb racks etc, not to mention such new esoterics as Gee, the then state-of the-art navigation aid and our first sight of a cathode ray tube. Aside from the Link Trainer, synthetic training as such was very much in its infancy and what little of it I recall involved the crew sitting at separate tables in a darkened room in a condition of pretended flight, fed at intervals with scraps of information representing sundry facets of flight progress. Each crew member was then supposed to take correct action in furtherance of the "mission", but whereas the navigator could be expected to keep a fake air plot going, the signaller happily play with a real T1154/R1155 set-up, and the bomb aimer perhaps achieve something on a crude training rig there was little for the pilot to do other than yawn. Somewhat appropriately this farce went under the pseudonym of "Grope", my only clear memory of one such exercise being service of a summons by the local bobby while being supposedly off the Dutch coast, the local beaks subsequently relieving me of ten shillings for the dire offence of cycling without lights.
My first and only flight in a Wellington failed to impress; not only did the controls feel unresponsive and heavy after the Oxford, the aircraft itself seemed ponderous and sluggish while I was surprised to discover that engine and ancillary controls were situated on the pilot's left side rather than the right. Thus I was not sorry when, next day and quite out of the blue, came news that Wymeswold was with immediate effect to become No.108 (Transport) OTU; furthermore, those who like myself were less than halfway through training were to cease such training forthwith and await conversion to the new role. Some years later I was to fly the Wellington again briefly and quite enjoyed it, but that is no part of this tale.
As facilities for transport training were not expected to be in place for some weeks, given the Service’s dislike of idleness some employment had to be found for us meantime; so daily we marched up to the ground school buildings, our task to redecorate them from top to bottom. The job was doubtless done with a fair degree of incompetence, as no instruction was given, tools and materials of half a century ago were hardly of today's quality and there was plenty of opportunity for larking about. Various new uses were found for some of the strange articles that came to hand, among them the explosive qualities of aluminium powder (from old sea markers) that was available in quantity; poured into the top of a stove, it flashed off most satisfactorily while the vast clouds of fumes did wonders for the surrounding decor.
After breakfast all students customarily got "fell in" behind the Officers' Mess where Spike Nolan, our unloved, cast-eyed (but all-seeing) Warrant Officer i/c trainees, would call the roll and then sourly issue various instructions and/or bollockings prior to marching us the odd mile or so to work. Now during this autumn of 1944 the Germans had commenced V2 rocket attacks on London, two of which we observed from our parade ground standpoint. On two separate occasions vapour trails rising from the southeastern horizon, clearly visible in the early morning light, excited a buzz of comment which even Spike was unable to quell; the first rising almost vertically before disappearing at the top of its trajectory, but the second a few days later described a series of erratic spirals low in the sky before plunging earthwards, no doubt to the discomfiture of its launch crew. Later I was to experience this terrifying weapon myself, luckily from a safe distance.
Along with some friends I dwelt on one of the camp's more remote sites, a cluster of huts in a shallow valley adjoining a copse full of game. A few of us would sometimes venture out with my ancient but newly-acquired 12-bore, to the displeasure of a local tenant farmer who informed us in reverent tones that " 'is h'lordship" would strongly disapprove of our temerity; however, our protestations that vermin control was a public duty were totally ignored (rabbits were indeed a real pest at this time, myxomatosis being unknown). Of course we took no notice and, following a subsequent discharge of my fowling piece on another poaching expedition, were chased off by his son atop a rickety bicycle; but as he wielded a large cudgel in one hand, it was impossible for him to ride at any speed over the rough, wet ground and so we got away. Revenge on the farmer's hen house was then planned but it proved too secure, further attempts being aborted when he was heard to declare in the local tavern that somebody had been after his chickens and "son would be waiting for 'un wi' shot gun". From then on we decided that the pub offered a safer form of recreation; it was anyway a very good one, with friendly landlord and excellent ale, his "old, mild & Tadcaster" being especially favoured for induction of general bonhomie (not to mention its warming qualities). Besides, nights were now drawing in so poaching after work was both difficult and uncomfortable as well as dangerous. To liven things up, one of my wilder companions subsequently dropped a Verey pistol cartridge down the chimney of a hut containing some RCAF personnel, causing much confusion but fortunately no injury. He was, incidentally, the one who had fired the near-fatal shot alluded to above - immediately following which, he had shoved the still smoking gun into my hands and shouted "run"; strange to relate, we remained friends for life (!).
As winter drew on the discomfort afforded by our crude accommodation became acute, so with our quarters being in a frost hollow the ablution block soon froze solid. By dint of stuffing the hut's stove with coke and then closing the dampers, the worst of the cold was kept at bay overnight. I suppose we were lucky not to asphyxiate ourselves with Co1, a very real risk using such a procedure; even so the heat produced was not always sufficient, so that one had to sleep almost fully dressed ed as well as resorting to such stratagems as putting a slip mat over the bedclothes. The same primitive stoves "heated" (in theory) all messes, classroom blocks etc, but as there was a perpetual shortage of fuel being cold became a fact of life; only when jammed into the pub's stuffy bar, or briefly home at weekends, was I warm again (but see later).
Eventually our efforts at painting & decorating were declared more or less acceptable and we reverted to the acquisition of learning with considerable enthusiasm, for a new and exciting vista had opened up consequent on our change of role; no longer bomber fodder, we were to fly the DC3 Dakota, the world's most famous airliner and wartime transport. Even in the classroom it soon became apparent that this fabled aircraft was in many respects superior to any contemporary from a British factory, especially so in the matter of its ancillary equipment, and the day when we would meet it face to face was eagerly awaited. At the same time, lectures on global weather, climatology and many other new subjects brought realisation that beyond the narrow confines of NW Europe a whole big new world awaited.
Initial flight conversion training was carried out at the satellite field of Castle Donington (now East Midlands Airport). In some respects a pleasant change - the Mess was smaller and more friendly, and Spike's eagle eye some miles distant - on the other hand accommodation was even more uncomfortable than at Wymeswold, and with Loughborough station now far off home visits became something of a marathon. However, set against the prospect of flying our new toy nothing else mattered..........
All the Daks were brand new, straight off the Santa Monica production line with only ferry hours to UK logged; they even smelt new, while the flight deck's relative luxury brought gasps of astonishment. By present day standards it was of course cramped, poky and not over-comfortable, but as compared with the Spartan interiors of contemporary British aircraft it was pure "Rolls- Royce". Cushioned seats with armrests and a properly insulated flight deck (sitting on a hard parachute being a pilot's normal lot elsewhere), plus a heating system that actually produced real heat, promised hitherto unheard-of luxury; while as for the practical side, its comprehensive instrumentation, Sperry autopilot & modern radio plus good layout of engine & ancillary controls were the stuff of pilots' dreams. An added bonus was being able to discard all our cumbersome flying kit including even helmet and mask, each crew station being provided with headset and hand mike. Designed to maintain airline schedules across a vast continent of climatic extremes, it was perhaps not surprising that the DC3's avionics and weather protection systems were of near space-age quality as compared to the primitive facilities offered elsewhere. Shamingly, in at least one respect it remained for some time yet light-years ahead of European counterparts, for its panel lighting was (in my experience, anyway) never surpassed - fifteen years on, that of the Britannia appeared to have been put together from surplus WW2 bits & pieces, while still later even the VC10 proved to be not much better in this context.
Indeed by 1940's standards the flight deck layout was an ergonomic triumph, even if somewhat cramped; throttles, propeller & mixture controls, elevator trim and tail wheel lock lever lay nicely to hand on the centre console, with fuel selectors and other important secondary controls also easily in reach. Batteries of clearly labelled switches were ranked on panels just above the windscreens, among them those for engine start (of which more anon), while said screens were cleared by real wipers that actually worked, an unheard-of luxury for those days. Various main elements of the hydraulic system were grouped immediately behind the copilot, bringing some advantages but also drawbacks, among which were loud and sometimes distracting noises emitted by this collection of miscellaneous plumbing. It also posed a potential hazard in the event of fluid leakage at a working pressure of 750 psi; fortunately this was very rare and never happened to me, however postwar standards rightly required all hydraulic components in new-build to be routed away from the cabin.
Fulfillment proved every bit as good as anticipation for the DC3 was indeed a delight; right from "blocks away" it handled nicely, the efficient toe-operated brakes and lockable tail wheel rendering taxiing and takeoff kids' stuff as compared with the desperate antics demanded by most other contemporary aircraft. By jet-age standards somewhat underpowered, so in truth were all piston-engined aircraft other than (possibly) front-rank fighters, and indeed for the period it was probably somewhat above average in this respect; in its natural element vice-free and driver-friendly, we soon became its willing slaves.
Our stay at Castle Donington coincided with a spell of bitter cold, with the mercury retreating into thermometer bulbs Europe-wide. Our miserable Nissen huts were probably no worse than those provided in countless other military encampments (and certainly better than tents) but, inured as we were to discomfort, conditions really were pretty arctic; so airborne training was thus even more eagerly anticipated, for the Dak's snug flight deck offered warmth and comfort unavailable on the ground. Fortunately the frosty but largely clear December weather facilitated our initial familiarisation with this most likeable of aircraft, every moment sheer delight, the pleasure and satisfaction at having such a responsive classic in one's hands clearly remembered as if it were yesterday instead of over half a century ago. Christmas soon passed in an alcoholic haze and so, with initial "circuits & bumps" completed, let's return to Wymeswold for some cross-country work.
A frosty January morning found my three-man crew detailed for a navigational exercise out beyond the Western Isles, before heading back to Wymeswold. Following an extended flight planning session, the crew bus rattled across the airfield bound for one of the more remote dispersal areas where our aircraft awaited in a boggy wilderness, surrounded on three sides by a hoary thicket; ahead, a meandering and narrow taxiway lead to the unseen airfield, on the way crossing a local road bereft of barriers or even any warning notice. Completion of outside checks included not only essentials such as removal of the pitot/static head covers, but also one or two items peculiar to the Dakota such as removal of ground lock pins from each main landing gear assembly, checking that the four fuel tank water drain cocks were wire-locked shut, and last but not least that all five control surface gust locks were removed. Unbelievably it was not unknown for this last item to be overlooked by even experienced pilots, with invariably fatal results.
Engine starting was fairly straightforward, although some prior experience as the proverbial one-armed paper-hanger would undoubtedly have helped. The two Pratt & Whitney R1830 engines (1200hp each) possessed inertia starters, the drill being for one switch on the roof panel to be held down so as to energise a small flywheel up to astronomical revolutions, then pushing another switch (while yet still holding the first) in order to mesh starter to engine, and operating (judiciously) the primer switch while moving the associated mixture control lever to "rich" as soon as the engine fired. While this was going on it was also necessary (if unfortunate enough to be in a MK3 – the Mk 4 mercifully had electric booster pumps) to operate a hand-operated 'wobble' pump while it also helped to perhaps juggle the throttle so as to "catch" the engine if it showed signs of dying after a few first hesitant coughs; following which pantomime, there was a repeat performance to get the other one running. With some dexterity this task could be accomplished on one's own, but it did help to have the assistance of either the navigator or radio operator, acquisition of a copilot lying some time in the future. Occasionally an engine would splutter along solely on the priming pump's efforts, due to jamming of a main needle valve in the carburettor; in which event it was necessary to shake it free by inducing a hearty backfire with ham-handed use of the throttle, this usually effecting a cure. Life was further complicated by some aircraft having different starter switch layouts, resulting in much confusion, frustration and cursing plus some delay in achieving a state of engines running.
Having made an initial check of essential instrument readings (oil & hydraulic pressures, and so on), engine rpm were set at the warm-up value and various functional checks of ancillary equipment such as radio and navigational equipment carried out while engine temperatures rose to the minimum value for taxiing. Once achieved, and permission obtained by radio from the unseen control tower, we trundled along our rural track towards the main airfield taxiway. To the present-day aviator all this may seem somewhat elementary, but bear in mind that, in the course of nearly 300 hours of training, this was not only the first aircraft type in which I had actually used radio as a part of the flight process, I was also (at a bare 20 years of age) in sole command of a state of the art transport aircraft; so, for me, the big time had indeed arrived!
Time spent taxiing towards the holding point, or whatever it was called in those days, was sufficient for oil & cylinder head temperatures to attain minimum safe levels, so after checking correct propeller & magneto functioning we were ready to go. With an OK from the tower I swung onto the runway, allowing the tail wheel lock to engage as we lined up, and then steadily advanced the throttles to the maximum 48 inches manifold pressure. The props responded with a puissant and highly satisfying Hollywood-type droning roar, the initial snarl of the exhausts diminishing as speed increased. What little tendency to swing existed was easily countered initially by use of differential throttle, the effective rudder gaining authority as acceleration continued; following which the Dakota lifted easily into the crisp air at about 90 mph (knots lay in the future!). Acting as temporary copilot the radio operator executed the somewhat cumbersome procedure for raising main wheels, following which we turned towards the northwest and climbed steadily to our cruising altitude of 8,000 ft.
As we progressed, the very light dusting of snow beneath us gradually became a proper covering and the approaching Pennines assumed a positively Alpine aspect as they came into view in the brilliantly clear air. Here & there trailing white plumes marked the progress of various trains, a once commonplace sight now utterly vanished, while the Manchester conurbation was marked by a thick blanket of evil-coloured smog. Through it poked a large number of tall factory chimneys belching out their contribution to the general miasma, a foul and unlovely contrast to the purity of the surrounding snow-blanketed countryside. I had plenty of time to study this phenomenon, for the sky was empty and the superb autopilot left me little to do; visibility was unlimited, navigation by eyeball and the mountains of the Lake District soon lay directly ahead. Having checked the sky was clear I took advantage of Mr. Sperry, left my seat and went back to discuss flight progress with navigator & radio operator, a foolhardy and potentially dangerous action by any standards; however, the potential hazards of runaway autopilots were less well taught or appreciated in those innocent times, and in fact I never heard of any such event with the Dakota. In later years I learned better sense, though fortunately for me my education was by courtesy of the misfortunes of others.
Clad overall in winter whiteness the Lakes and their mountains looked quite magnificent in the bright sun, even the Cumbrian plain being covered, while further yet beyond the Solway Firth loomed the hills of Galloway in similar garb. The cockpit was warm and snug, the engines droned smoothly, all instrument needles indicated correctly, even our meal boxes contained passable offerings while a tolerably drinkable hot coffee nicely completed my sense of wellbeing; this, I felt, was what aviation was meant to be like. Indeed, given the luxury of an autopilot it was probably the first occasion on which I had been able to relax and really enjoy the sheer pleasure of flight in such perfect conditions; later, I would learn to savour and treasure such occasions to the full as a counterbalance to the thousands of other hours of tedium endured over the years - not to mention other, briefer, periods of worry, fear, or (very occasionally) stark terror.
As the Isle of Man fell behind on the left, the radio operator passed a message slip bearing the legend "return to base". No reason was given, and with only a distant cloud bank visible far to the north west I deemed it reasonable to request confirmation; which, being duly given, left me no alternative but to effect a 180o turn and head back. Following arrival at a wide-open Wymeswold, we found that a meteorological forecast of bad weather at our expected time of return was responsible for the recall, but the expected conditions never materialised and it was an early lesson in not placing too much faith in meteorological ‘experts’; sixty-plus years on, I still regret the early termination of what had been a perfectly delightful flight. However, as one of our aircraft had recently crashed during a blizzard, presumably the authorities were now playing safe.
Shortly before this my crew had undertaken another flight in fairly atrocious weather to Nutts Corner, an airfield on the north west coast of Ulster; but, being accompanied by an instructor, no restrictions had applied. It was a day of snow showers that became heavier and more frequent as we went on, so much so that frequent alterations of heading became necessary to avoid the closely-packed storms. Lacking "Gee", my inexperienced navigator was unable to keep up with our zigzag progress, the radio compass needle spun uselessly due to static, and with no landmarks visible our position became uncertain. When a coastline was finally discerned through the murk it was held to be Northern Ireland, and although it did not look quite right we attempted to make what was visible ‘fit’ the map, a process that became increasingly unconvincing as we headed inland. Eventually the nav caught up with events, pronouncing that, due to a combination of stronger than forecast wind plus more "zag" than "zig", we were now over SW Scotland and to turn 90o left immediately; following which, a snow-blown Nutts Corner eventually hove in sight. Well it was supposed to be a navigational exercise, and certainly lessons were learnt - not least the necessity for intelligent map-reading!
Some night X-country flights naturally formed part of the syllabus, my main recollection of these being the almost dangerously snug atmosphere of the pilots' small domain. With gangway blackout curtains drawn, sole illumination came from the myriad luminous needles and calibration markings glowing brightly on the instrument dial faces, shaded ultraviolet lamps ensuring that these stood out clearly while all other cockpit detail remained virtually invisible; the synchronised propellers droned away comfortingly, and a 700 temperature added to the illusion of security born of inexperience. The rear crew members continued with their esoteric duties behind the curtains, passing messages from time to time plus the occasional cup of coffee; it was all rather other-worldly, although reality intruded now & then and especially so when weather was encountered. Then one would watch the airspeed closely for evidence of ice build-up, whilst simultaneously reassured by the Dak's excellent protection systems; one dramatic encounter with St. Elmo's Fire, with mysterious green feathers sparking across the screens and the propeller arcs described in brilliant rings of flickering bluish flame came as a glimpse into the previously unknown. At the time this was all great stuff; but with later exposure to weather in its more violent manifestations I would learn to be wary of such phenomena, for they might well herald much worse to follow.
Our course successfully completed sometime in February 1945 there followed a spell of leave, after which my crew proceeded to a holding unit at Morecambe. So down to Loughborough station (Great Central) for the last time, a place from which so many weekend journeys had commenced, and as the inevitable "V2" hicupped its way south at the head of our train I reflected on what the future might hold; for with the war in Europe plainly on its last lap, a posting to the Far Eastern theatre had to be considered as more than likely.
Harrym, indeed a veritable tour de force! Thank you for painting such vivid pictures, of freezing Nissan huts, of the confusion of war (one day set for Bomber Command, then to interior decorating, and then to become that acme of the aviation scene, a transport pilot! 
Your delight in your, straight out of the factory, state of the art, and above all warm and snug new office strikes a chord. That was exactly how I felt about the brand new Hercules C Mk1's that I encountered at 242 OCU, RAF Thorney Island, itself the nearest thing that the RAF had to compare to a UK holiday camp. Though the product of Mr Lockheed rather than Mr Douglas, it shared the same high standards of ergonomic design that you so well describe. Handling it compared more with a fighter rather than the heavy inputs required to the non-power assisted Hastings controls, where you could count to five before the bank that you had commanded manifested itself. Like your Dak, the Herc outshone the home products completely.
Talking of the Hastings, I must admit to some confusion. I remember the Zero Reader being fitted to a very few Hastings and not being overly impressed. My old Pilots Notes refer to it being fitted only to the Mk4. The only Mk4's that I ever flew were as a co-pilot seconded from 48 Sqn to FECS in the mid 60's. I have WJ's 322, 325, 333 and 336 in my log book. Is it possible that all four existing Mk4's were based at Changi by then (replaced elsewhere by VIP Andovers perhaps)?
Oh, speaking of Pilots Notes, herewith the Dakota I and III to illustrate (as if it were needed) your splendid piece, for which much thanks again:-
A.P. 2445A & C - PN - Pilot's notes for Dakota I & III
Your delight in your, straight out of the factory, state of the art, and above all warm and snug new office strikes a chord. That was exactly how I felt about the brand new Hercules C Mk1's that I encountered at 242 OCU, RAF Thorney Island, itself the nearest thing that the RAF had to compare to a UK holiday camp. Though the product of Mr Lockheed rather than Mr Douglas, it shared the same high standards of ergonomic design that you so well describe. Handling it compared more with a fighter rather than the heavy inputs required to the non-power assisted Hastings controls, where you could count to five before the bank that you had commanded manifested itself. Like your Dak, the Herc outshone the home products completely.
Talking of the Hastings, I must admit to some confusion. I remember the Zero Reader being fitted to a very few Hastings and not being overly impressed. My old Pilots Notes refer to it being fitted only to the Mk4. The only Mk4's that I ever flew were as a co-pilot seconded from 48 Sqn to FECS in the mid 60's. I have WJ's 322, 325, 333 and 336 in my log book. Is it possible that all four existing Mk4's were based at Changi by then (replaced elsewhere by VIP Andovers perhaps)?
Oh, speaking of Pilots Notes, herewith the Dakota I and III to illustrate (as if it were needed) your splendid piece, for which much thanks again:-
A.P. 2445A & C - PN - Pilot's notes for Dakota I & III
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"Curiouser and Curiouser ", thought Alice.
Chugalug,
I checked on both the links you so kindly gave me, and all was revealed. Yes, 12 Sqdn with Basil Brush was the only possible candidate. But what Wiki showed as the badge had a Queen's Crown, whereas the first link (list of Squadrons) showed it as a King's.
So it shows that what I'd forgotten (if I ever knew), was that all badges switched when the King died. All badges approved during the present reign will presumably switch back when Charles (or William) comes to the throne.
(Sudden thought: will they all have to buy new Cap badges - and buttons - when that happens ?)
The question of what I saw through the magnifying glass is now irrelevant.
You learn something new every day !
Now let us put my suspicions to rest. Someone here must be able to get hold of the Air Force Lists for '44 and '45, and trace Wing Commander Mike Warren. And if he flew operationally with 12 Sqdn, its ORB will give us all the 'gen'. I turn it over to our IT wizards.
Danny.
I checked on both the links you so kindly gave me, and all was revealed. Yes, 12 Sqdn with Basil Brush was the only possible candidate. But what Wiki showed as the badge had a Queen's Crown, whereas the first link (list of Squadrons) showed it as a King's.
So it shows that what I'd forgotten (if I ever knew), was that all badges switched when the King died. All badges approved during the present reign will presumably switch back when Charles (or William) comes to the throne.
(Sudden thought: will they all have to buy new Cap badges - and buttons - when that happens ?)
The question of what I saw through the magnifying glass is now irrelevant.
You learn something new every day !
Now let us put my suspicions to rest. Someone here must be able to get hold of the Air Force Lists for '44 and '45, and trace Wing Commander Mike Warren. And if he flew operationally with 12 Sqdn, its ORB will give us all the 'gen'. I turn it over to our IT wizards.
Danny.
(Sudden thought: will they all have to buy new Cap badges - and buttons - when that happens ?)
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No.4 BFTS, Falcon Field, Arizona
In commemoration of D-Day, Avialogs have an Air Assault package designed for you personally, Ormeside:-
Not being ex aircrew, or even ex-service, I hope you will all forgive my intrusion in this amazing thread. Though no else appears to have mentioned it there another feature of the above link that relates to the thread title.
If you followed the link posted in the above message #5786 of 11th June you also find a photograph of a group of airmen posed in front of an AT-6 reading a newspaper with the headlines announcing the Allied Armies landing in France.
You may notice one airman wears an RAF cap with the white band and that the AT-6 is coded "BP-251". These BP-200 codes were carried on the of the AT-6s assigned to No.4 British Flying Training School at Falcon Field, Mesa, Arizona. This is clearly a publicity photograph taken at 4 BFTS.
M-62A3
Harrym #5871,
Wow, your description of flying the Dakota makes someone who is a mere ground pounder, feel as though I was there with you. Truly a superb post, and indicative of the high quality of comment this thread has become noted for. Keep it going sir, take us flying again soon.
Smudge
Wow, your description of flying the Dakota makes someone who is a mere ground pounder, feel as though I was there with you. Truly a superb post, and indicative of the high quality of comment this thread has become noted for. Keep it going sir, take us flying again soon.
Smudge
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harrym,
Yes, I too first wrote my memoir of RAF service, under the title of "Jottings", for the benefit of family and friends, and well remember the extra explanatory text you had to put in to keep your readership "in the picture". But that was balanced by the fact that then nobody knew enough to contradict you, whereas now you are at the mercy of an extremely knowledgeable and critical crowd all too ready to leap on you !
Having said that, I read your story with growing interest, particularly when you describe the luxury of the Dakota cockpit. Autopilots, comfortable padded seats, windscreen wipers, a heater which actually worked, radio ditto, a co-pilot to do all the work, a Nav who could really navigate, a signaller who knew which way to twiddle the knobs....The list is endless, it was a shame to take your pay ! What more could a man want (yes, I know, a F/E to start the engines).
All sorts of little things ring bells. The glorious "Pratt & Whitney Sound" - once heard, never forgotten. All the family had it: I flew behind, at various times, a Wasp Junior (Valiant), a Wasp (Harvard) and a Twin Wasp (P47 Thunderbolt). The "Sound" was the same from all of them.
I remember the control external locks (wooden wedges with long red streamers attached)- I was always happier (as a passenger on the first flight of the day) when I saw them all out (and chucked in the back of the cabin) before I climbed aboard !
They were later (as I understand) in the C-54s which replaced them, by a mechanical locking system applied in the cockpit, and I only know that from a tale (sourced from "Flight" magazine) which utterly defies belief, but which I may retell one day (if the Mods will let me), as it is miles off-Thread.
Your tank drain taps may have been wired-off, but in India it was SOP to drain the condensed water off first thing every morning; you would often get a cupful at each point if the tanks had not been refilled to the brim after the last flight of the day before. (Possible connection with the 777 at LHR a while back ?)
Loughborough rail station, you may recall, is ingrained in my memory: it was my destination, as I Posted long ago - on the night I lost the (occupied) coffin in my charge
(or thought I had !) en route to the place.
Enough, this is too long already. Danny.
Yes, I too first wrote my memoir of RAF service, under the title of "Jottings", for the benefit of family and friends, and well remember the extra explanatory text you had to put in to keep your readership "in the picture". But that was balanced by the fact that then nobody knew enough to contradict you, whereas now you are at the mercy of an extremely knowledgeable and critical crowd all too ready to leap on you !
Having said that, I read your story with growing interest, particularly when you describe the luxury of the Dakota cockpit. Autopilots, comfortable padded seats, windscreen wipers, a heater which actually worked, radio ditto, a co-pilot to do all the work, a Nav who could really navigate, a signaller who knew which way to twiddle the knobs....The list is endless, it was a shame to take your pay ! What more could a man want (yes, I know, a F/E to start the engines).
All sorts of little things ring bells. The glorious "Pratt & Whitney Sound" - once heard, never forgotten. All the family had it: I flew behind, at various times, a Wasp Junior (Valiant), a Wasp (Harvard) and a Twin Wasp (P47 Thunderbolt). The "Sound" was the same from all of them.
I remember the control external locks (wooden wedges with long red streamers attached)- I was always happier (as a passenger on the first flight of the day) when I saw them all out (and chucked in the back of the cabin) before I climbed aboard !
They were later (as I understand) in the C-54s which replaced them, by a mechanical locking system applied in the cockpit, and I only know that from a tale (sourced from "Flight" magazine) which utterly defies belief, but which I may retell one day (if the Mods will let me), as it is miles off-Thread.
Your tank drain taps may have been wired-off, but in India it was SOP to drain the condensed water off first thing every morning; you would often get a cupful at each point if the tanks had not been refilled to the brim after the last flight of the day before. (Possible connection with the 777 at LHR a while back ?)
Loughborough rail station, you may recall, is ingrained in my memory: it was my destination, as I Posted long ago - on the night I lost the (occupied) coffin in my charge
(or thought I had !) en route to the place.Enough, this is too long already. Danny.
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Gaining An R.A.F.Pilots Brevet in WW11
After flying Wellingtons at Swinderby I was posted to the Hastings Conversion Unit at Dishforth. We had two weeks ground school to show us the Hastings systems but unfortunately, bad weather and lack of aircraft meant that we did not fly. On the 4th February I was posted to Topcliffe, just down the road from Dishforth.
Topcliffe at that time was home to two Hastings Squadrons. No 24 VIP and No 47. I went to 47. Topcliffe was a pre war base and very comfortable. During the War it had housed Royal Canadian Air Force Lancasters and Halifaxes.
On 6th February the King died. Princess Elizabeth and Prince Philip were on a Commonwealth tour using the Shaw Savill liner "Gothic" as a Royal Yacht. They were in Kenya and Gothic was in Mombasa.
I had just gone to bed that night when the orderly sergeant came to my room and asked me if I wanted to go to Esst Africa in the morning. Of Course! We took off at 6 am, on the 7th and I had my first lesson over France. Obviously Ok and I was able to take my turn in the front seat. We carried two Captains, two Navigators ,Two sSignallers, two Engineers and an Air Quartermaster and me.
We flew to El Adem , nine hours, stopped for an hour to refuel the aircraft and ourselves and away again through the night to Mombasa. The navigators worked hard, no aids then climbing up for astro sights, and conscious of high ground to our left in Ethiopia. We reached Mombasa 23 hours after leaving Topcliffe, had brea,fast and a sleeps and back to the aircraft to meet passengers and freight. We carried Admiral Lambe and his staff and the new Queens luggage . Off again at 1800 with a stop for an hour at Khartoum, same at Castle Benito - later known as Idris. - And so to London Airport as it was. Said goodbye to our passengers and had a meal in the Airport restaurant laid on for us by the Queen's Equerry who thanked us, and we did the first R.A.F. Duty for the new Queen. Then back to Topcliffe late on the 10th. More to come.
Topcliffe at that time was home to two Hastings Squadrons. No 24 VIP and No 47. I went to 47. Topcliffe was a pre war base and very comfortable. During the War it had housed Royal Canadian Air Force Lancasters and Halifaxes.
On 6th February the King died. Princess Elizabeth and Prince Philip were on a Commonwealth tour using the Shaw Savill liner "Gothic" as a Royal Yacht. They were in Kenya and Gothic was in Mombasa.
I had just gone to bed that night when the orderly sergeant came to my room and asked me if I wanted to go to Esst Africa in the morning. Of Course! We took off at 6 am, on the 7th and I had my first lesson over France. Obviously Ok and I was able to take my turn in the front seat. We carried two Captains, two Navigators ,Two sSignallers, two Engineers and an Air Quartermaster and me.
We flew to El Adem , nine hours, stopped for an hour to refuel the aircraft and ourselves and away again through the night to Mombasa. The navigators worked hard, no aids then climbing up for astro sights, and conscious of high ground to our left in Ethiopia. We reached Mombasa 23 hours after leaving Topcliffe, had brea,fast and a sleeps and back to the aircraft to meet passengers and freight. We carried Admiral Lambe and his staff and the new Queens luggage . Off again at 1800 with a stop for an hour at Khartoum, same at Castle Benito - later known as Idris. - And so to London Airport as it was. Said goodbye to our passengers and had a meal in the Airport restaurant laid on for us by the Queen's Equerry who thanked us, and we did the first R.A.F. Duty for the new Queen. Then back to Topcliffe late on the 10th. More to come.
RAF/RCAF Gananoque Ontario, Canada
Found this.
Harvards Above: The History Of World War Two RAF Fleet Air Arm Training In Kingston & Gananoque, Ontario, Canada
Interesting read.
Harvards Above: The History Of World War Two RAF Fleet Air Arm Training In Kingston & Gananoque, Ontario, Canada
Interesting read.
